Anonymous: Reconaissance
by Kilameida
Summary: The influx of visitors presented by the rapidly-upcoming tournament provides an interesting question: If four people were to team up and compete, just like other team of four people, and the next team of four people - how much money do the merchants stand to gain? Deconstruction fic. A view of the RWBY world from other people that don't happen to be as rich as Beacon students.
1. Questionable Deeds Done Rather Cheaply

So this entire thing began because I wrote a shitty, 2 minute self-insert.

It has now evolved into an epic quest, by me, in order to redeem my writing skills.

This is but the first chapter of that quest.

Also for what the hell happened to all my other work it's just that I didn't plan it out properly and now my story's all over the place. This one, however, has a very clear aim on what to do, so I'm guaranteed at least another four chapters.

Hopefully.

I don't know I mean jesus writing IS kinda tiring eheh.

Team ANMS - Chapter 1: Questionable Deeds Done Rather Cheaply

* * *

Three months before the festival, 'he' showed up.

He's a slippery character, they say. He'll pop up when you least expect it and sell you certain objects – a muffler, some parts, some nuts and bolts – and strangely enough, you'll find that you'll always need it. A compelling person, some might say.

Students will openly admit of their association with him – after all, what's the harm in buying some undeniably useful spare parts from a person? He seems reputable enough, got a little dark on his overcoat and fedora, and sure, he seems like he's hunched with a back problem, but let's be honest, black's a very fashionable color that goes with everything and it's not like we're all born lucky. He might be selling drugs. He might be selling 'questionable' spare parts. But as time goes on, the students found that the parts that they purchase, despite being slick and smells a little bit like old oil grease, happen to be a killer bargain for what they bought.

This is, thought Ozpin, very inconvenient.

Oh, they ran tests. The weapon parts that were part of the shady deal were confiscated and brought to attention, but for all the tests that they ran, it seems to function exactly like its store-bought counterparts. Just slightly better. There were no sabotage, no signs of sudden decay. Just pure customer satisfaction.

And they've had hunters and police alike comb the grounds for this shady character, but they didn't call him slippery for nothing, it seems.

And being the experienced man that he is, Ozpin became very, very worried.

It is almost imperceptible, the way his worries show. His hair droops just a little, and there was a slight weariness in his voice, and perhaps the way that he walks and the way that he talks becomes just a bit slower, a little bit more wary. Perhaps his green suit becomes a little duller, being left for just a little too long in the laundry as he is more preoccupied with other thoughts. Perhaps his notes becomes slightly less organized. But these small little changes are imperceptible to anyone but Ozpin himself, and the fact that he noticed them at all irritated him ever so slightly.

Shady characters are shady for a reason. Did he have an ulterior motive in visiting Beacon? Is this a dark sign of things to come? A sort of secret sabotage? Espionage? The mere fact that he could travel through the school without triggering the elaborate (and, he thought furiously as he ground his cigar into grey paste, rather expensive) alarm systems is already cause enough for worry.

What irks him the most, however, is the lack of evidence.

Certain patterns in history tend to repeat themselves, and Ozpin knows this pattern very well: some person shows up, and returns later, more often than not as an enemy, and then reveals the sabotage – a bomb perhaps, or a sudden disabling of all weapons in the academy, or – or-

He sighs. Speculation gets you nowhere, he knows. Lack of evidence even more so.

He glared at the students assembled before him, his tiny spectacles only minutely diluting the intensity of his stare.

"And have any of you told anyone else? Am I correct in assuming that everyone whom encountered our slippery friend is gathered here?"

There were murmurs of 'yes', and a general slight bobbing of heads in a vertical manner. He grounded his teeth. The worst part of being a principal is that for some reason, everyone feels like clamming up when you're speaking.

"Then you are to keep it that way. No sense in causing panic, rumors, or … speculation," he said in a gravelly tone. "I want no panic among the first-years. They have enough to deal with as is. And… return to your daily activities. All of you."

* * *

Some miles away, a figure appeared. It wore a black overcoat and black fedora.

And despite the fact that he was standing against the bright colors of green and sky-blue that was emanating from the window, he seems to blend right into the background. It is a figure that, despite all logic indicating otherwise, could _never_ be at the foreground. Even its conversation with the other occupant of the room could be dismissed as simple background noise:

"I told you to get information."

"Yes, but I got a good sale, and that's _important_."

"Godsdammit, Max, I told you to get in there to spy on rivals, not _improve_ their weapons."

"So? _I_ made great _sales. _Considering what they're made of, I have gained an incredible amount of money." He rolls the 'I' a little bit around his tongue. It's a nice word to him. Just like the word _me_. "I have converted so-called 'garbage'-" and despite his face being covered by the shadows underneath the brim of his hat, one could _just_ imagine the sneer on his face – "into money. Aand," he said, shifting into a more satisfied tone, "useful garbage, too. Y'want? Half price, the usual?"

"Yeah, yeah, useful, useful," came the sour reply. "Not like you _haven't_ already tweaked all of our stuff into oblivion." There was a sigh from the other speaker. He was leaning against the corner, practically drowning in papers and holographic displays. It was hard to discern his face underneath all the junk that's flowing over him. "Not useful enough to get the information _I_ need."

Something hit his head. It was a small floppy disc. A pair of glasses peeked out of the mass of holographic displays just long enough to regard the fedora and overcoat with a derisive stare as it loads the ancient artifact in.

"How last… millennium."

"Sure is way stronger than the shitty glass discs today," replied the man. "That'll be another buck outta you."

"Point taken." His partner's voice is reedy, the kind of voice that you would expect behind those commonly associated with the word geek and nerd. "Well, at least you rigged it so that it stores more than today's odd USB."

"Heh."

_Ding_.

The file loaded, and yet another holographic display popped up. All that can now be seen of the figure behind all the blue holographic display are just faint blue outlines that suggest the shape of spiky hair, and a pair of nerdy glasses.

"This is quite a big file. Let's see… though since we've already seen Team RWBY in action, I can just skip through their files. Saves me some work."

The overcoat grunted. "Tough team to beat, that one." He didn't even move from the table, but somehow, there was already a cup of hot coffee next to him, despite the fact that there are no hot-water dispensers, and for that matter, no packs of coffee in the room.

A hand emerged from the messy pile of papers and holograms. It did a dismissive wave before it sank back in. "Oh, no doubt we'll have trouble. But I'd rather not die from a team we didn't research at _all_ than lose to them –"

'Max' made an exasperated noise. "We still got a _week_ left!"

"You and _I_ haven't practiced at all! We're too busy researching!"

"It's not like we're gonna fight as much as _those_ two. Y'know our usual strats-"

"Sssh. Prying ears are everywhere."

"Oh for fuck's sake… Well, fill me in, why don't you? So? What do you got from the footage I got?"

There were some rapid tapping noises – a keyboard being tapped on at rapid speeds – and then silence. It hung on for a minute. Then two awkward ones.

"Oy." He poked at his coffee cup. It was still a little too hot to drink.

"Hmm? Be patient, I'm still watching. It's not like it takes three seconds to watch a total of fifteen minutes of footage."

Max sighed, and stands up. The fedora shook slightly, so he raised an arm and re-adjusted it firmly on his head. "Then I'm going to go take a look at _those_ two. Try and get it ready by the time I'm back?"

"Yeah, yeah." There was no thought in the response. Obviously, the speaker is highly engrossed in watching whatever information was brought back from Beacon.

"Be right back, then…"

He walked out of the door, leaving some words unspoken between the two.

Put together, they read:

_You only took three seconds for everyone else._

* * *

Three hours later, the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and night falls on Vale.

The Night Vale is a little bit different than the regular day Vale. It is still relatively safe, and people still walk the streets, looking for wares and talking with each other, eating outside in the face of the gentle breeze that wafts through the cities many alleyways. It was peaceful, that night, and it continues to be peaceful. Maybe a little _too_ peaceful.

There's a reason for that. This is because, unlike Daytime Vale, where people are friendly with each other, socializes, chats a little and above all, find and meet new people, strangers are NOT welcome to Night Vale.

The Night Vale is a closed circuit: nobody interacts with people they don't know. They know what happens when you poke into the shadier side of Vale, the side that robs stores and smuggle dust and prefers their humans dead and roasted. Nothing good will come out of being in Night Vale. And the only reason why Max is here, is because he needed to make a sale among strangers.

He lied a bit, of course. _Those_ two needed no supervision, much less check-ins. And truth be told, he'd be terrified of having to disturb them in the middle of their sparring sessions. It's the only time when they're allowed to go crazy with their skills. Besides, there is money to be made here. And while his personal principles stated that there is _always_ money to be made at any time and at any place, the amount to be made at certain locations vary.

_Like here, for example,_ he thought as he spun smartly into a dead-end alley. It was dark, with but a flickering lightbulb for illumination, and it stank of dampness, of _water_, clogging up pipes and pooling in little niches beaten in by years of rain splattering on hard concrete. It isn't truly a horrible smell until one realized that the dampness amplifies other bad smells, like thrown cigarettes and rat corpses, and made it _heavier_ with all the moisture.

To Max, it made him nostalgic. It was just like home.

So he strode into the alleyway confidently, gaining the attention of half-sleeping beggars, whom are not welcome in Vale, be it day or night, and had to resort to calling pitiful alleyways their home, and turned and faced the metal door, suspiciously clean of all the mold and rust infesting the rest of the alley and also somehow perfectly aligned with the side of the wall to not protrude at all. In this kind of lighting, you'd have to know the door exists at all to be able to see it while not inside the alley.

He rapped on the door smartly with his black-gloved hand.

It opened inwards, revealing an onyx-black corridor, and the sounds of what can only be a nightclub – no other music would be this repetitive - can be heard in the far distance. A man in a tuxedo and red tie greeted him with a scowl.

"Pass-", he began.

But Max never wasted time, not once, not ever, and before the henchman knew it, he was already talking to empty air. And the henchman could hear it, the sounds of footsteps walking towards the other direction. It was a short corridor, and another door awaits him at the end.

By the time the word "Hey you," had exited the henchman's mouth, Max was already at the door.

He opened it and emerged, shoes wet and clothes slightly damp, into what can only really be described as a mess.

He wasn't wrong – it _was_ a nightclub, just one that appears to be under heavy renovation. People in outfits similar to where he entered from were running to and fro carrying wood, glass, paint, and various other construction materials. The floor tiles were in pieces, covered with wires, or is being broken apart to remove it and so use its spot to place a tile directly on the building concrete. Metallic ladders dot the area, replete with wires hanging low over the ceiling and the stage light gantry being swarmed with men in black tuxedoes.

In the distance, a particularly idiotic henchman decided to try and mess with the audio control system, which explained to Max so many things, particularly his bleeding ears. The man had no idea how to mix, and since the club under renovation anyways, he was less of a DJ and more of a henchman doing things that he shouldn't be.

Over the din, a man's deep voice can be heard.

"Rudolph! Rudolph! _RUDOLPH!_ I said cut that out! You're not a mixer, d'you hear me?! Rudolph!"

The music stopped abruptly, and Max thought he heard an electrical noise, like a cable being unplugged suddenly.

A man strode purposefully out of the crowd of henchmen trying to futilely repair the dancefloor. Black vest. A shiny, clean white shirt. Red tie. Black sideburns and a beard, with slick hair to cut it all off, and his portly – but not, by any means, fat – build that made him stand out from the rest of his henchmen's relatively slender build.

He approached the terrified Rudolph, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away from the mixer. " I swear to God that if I see you near the mixer one more time…" he muttered under his breath.

Max watched with polite interest as Rudolph was thrown into a different room, which the man closed right after he threw Rudolph in. It said 'closet'.

"Dunno why I bother with him, really," said the man. "Why'd I hire such _incompetent_ help, anyways? Probably being ripped off. Good help – hah!" he said, rubbing his nose with a fat finger.

"Well, whatever it is, you're not being ripped off by _me_, so that's working out in your favor," said Max, walking forwards.

"Maximillien. You old bastard."

"Still seventeen, really. And on the subject of getting ripped off, Junior, might I interest you in these _very_ interesting cocktail that I've-"

"Save it for some other fool, Max, you made them off bugs and little-" Junior shuddered – "moldy _things_ to cut the costs. God, I don't think I'll ever see blue syrup the same way _ever_ again."

"Oh, that's just the last one. And besides," he added, "they ended up tasting _good_, don't they?" Max said, with a slight smile.

Junior paused, clearly torn between disgust and disgruntled, fascinated appreciation. "Well," he said after a while, "I suppose they did. Still, ain't feeding MY customers that shit."

They both walked towards the bar counter, which is surprisingly the only part of the bar that remained unscathed and in less dire need of repair. Junior circled behind the bar and grabbed a bottle from behind the counter.

"A drink?"

"I'm underage, I shouldn't be doing that," came Max's curt reply.

"Since when did YOU give two shits?" laughed Junior quietly. The drink was finished now, and the champagne bubbles simmered near the brim, just enough to not overspill.

"Since a customer back in, oh, Haven. Mind you, it took me a while to get the airship to get there."

"Well, you had to board an airship to get to Haven, and God knows how annoying it is to get a ticket for one of _those_."

"Well, God doesn't appear to have MY connections, then." Max paused. "Junior – let's cut to the chase, there's some… stuff I'd like to know."

Junior frowned. "Ain't free."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. This is a bit more serious…" Max leaned in close, and for just a moment, Junior could see his eyes. They were emerald green, and behind his glasses, even in the shadows of his hat and overcoat, they were hard and serious. He had never seen them like that.

"What do you got on my target?" whispered Max.

"Which target? Max, you're not really into this whole _bounty hunting _thing again, are you?" he chuckled, which died off in the sudden, localized silence. In fact, the hustle and bustle of his busy henchmen were suddenly distant, as if they were in a room all by themselves.

"Torchwick. He's in town, ain't he? And word on the street is, he's planning something big." The nonchalant, mercantile joy was gone from his face now. Max was now completely serious. "I'm onto him. The stronger he gets, the less profit I get. You know him, Junior. He is a purely greedy capitalist asshole. I know I'm the same, but at least I let the small business run, because that's how economy works. The man doesn't know the meaning of long-term."

He reached into his pocket and took out a small flask. He popped it open, downed it, and stared into Junior's eyes. "I know there's a war coming. More weapon orders in this month than the last three years combined, the drug business is practically exploding, 'cos them soldiers need all the fun they can get. And for some reason, some high-ass general's airship and his army is parked right here, and the Vytal's festival coming up… And since Torchwick is here, and the White Fang's been more active than usual… _something's _going down. Hard. So tell me the word on the street, man. You know everything. Right now, I need everything."

"Quiet word on the street, then. He's covering his tracks pretty well. Even I got no dirt on him, and he just hired my guys." Junior took a swing.

"That bastard's always careful about covering his tracks, but henchmen-" Max waved his hand vaguely around the establishment – "are never as careful as he is. Doesn't have to be him. Something unusual."

"Y'know-" began Junior. "I have a feeling he knows that, and that's why he's relying on mine, idiots as they are. And there IS something."

Max's eyes gleamed. "Tell me."

"It ain't free."

"Old time's sake?"

Junior snorted. "You've known me for only half a month, and that was to rip me off."

"Aah," Max said, "but they were _delicious_ rip-offs, weren't they?" He paused. "Fine. Tell me." He reached into his coat, and came out with a wad of cash in his hands.

Junior laughed.

"You, _paying_? What's this, now? What's so important about right now that you, of all of people, would actually try and pay without haggling like a maniac?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to take my money back. Go on, tell me."

Junior paused. Then exhaled. "So y'know about the new mech that came out recently? It's not common knowledge, but a crook like you oughta know." Taking another swig of his drink, he proceeded to take out a piece of paper with some symbols scrawled on it. "It's the Atlesian Paladin, innit? I've heard that one of the shipments in Menagerie got interrupted. Oddly enough, it doesn't seem to be the White Fang, since the attackers are _human_."

"At the same time, he needed my boys to operate some cranes and pulleys, move around some boxes, the like. Might be that mech, but I don't think Torchwick has that kind of firepower under his command. Now, I don't know if that's anything to do with whatever, but what I do know is that the mech needs a little bit of this to power up its shots."

Max examined the little piece of paper. "C4H4N4. That's _common_ as hell, Junio-"

Then, suddenly, in one, swift, fluid motion he took his fedora and slammed it on the table. "DAMN!"

Junior took a good look at Max's face outside of the shadows. Round, young, and white, but the kind of blackened white that suggests that the person had done their fair share of travel under the sun. That face is also tinged with the red of frustration. He couldn't see his eyes, however – the angle of his glasses caught the light just enough to block his view of his eyes.

"Something's up?" Junior continued nonchalantly.

"That bastard. That conniving, reckless, and above all _smart_ son of a bitch," said Max in between his breaths. "I just sold a bunch of that, just a few weeks ago, and it should have arrived in Vale just… three days ago! That genius bastard. He actually bought it off _me_? And I've never suspected it!"

Junior whistled. "Takes some balls, for that man, to buy off from his enemies."

"It- it was good money, alright? I never suspected a thing. Should've found out more about the buyer, why the hell would they need so much of a common material. Fuck. Fuck. They got mine. The one that I spiked, too. It's gonna be one strong mech that Torchwick's piloting."

He sighed.

"Well, I guess I know what he has. Still dunno what he's up to. And how much I've just compromised my team."

"Pay me some more, and I'll keep you posted on the going-ons in Vale," volunteered Junior.

"It's dangerous for your man to keep you updated on someone like Torchwick. How 'bout this: you pay me, and I'll keep _you_ updated while my team – well, while my team does their thing."

Junior just laughed some more. "Nice try, slick. You haven't even told me what your team's up to."

"That's because I haven't seen the money."

Junior paused, and then reached into his pockets and slid some money forwards. "That's half the amount you paid me, I reckon. But this information ain't safe, you got it? I'm a broker, after all."

Max hesitated, but forged on. "Troublemakers," he said. "We're hired to test the mettle and capabilities of those young people back in Beacon. Torchwick is just my bonus."

"I don't think you're telling me everything."

"You'll have to triple that amount if you want me to. It's big information, what you're asking me to tell. Besides."

Max paused for a while, picked up his hat, and stood up. "I have a team now. Like it or not, profit or loss, I'll have to take care of those assholes."

Junior waved him away. "Then begone with you. You're a goddamn eyesore for any businessman, y'know that?"

Max smiled. "Only for the ones that can't do business very well."

He turned around and strode away.

* * *

_Profile: Maximillien C. Finkerton_

_Affliation: Team AN**M**__S_

_Specialty: Bargaining merchandise over the speed limit_

_Combat Role: Trickster_

_Semblance: Illusive_

_Equipment: Coat, Fedora, Hexatech Modfiable Revolver_

_As a young boy, followed his mother and father all over the world in their business ventures as travelling merchants. Learned, from people all over Remnant, various trades and skills as well as local engineering, cooking, chemistry, and various ways of creating things that are better than most 'factory made' wares. A natural at ripping off people. Loves money._

Welp hope i redeemed a bit of myself

next up's the A bit  
maybe the S bit  
idk im tired  
bye  
also reviews, more than anything else, is appreciated


	2. Flirtatious Impulses

ATTENTION

So at one point I realized that I'm writing about an ongoing series.

Yeah, it's a bit of a late point, but moving on:

That means I probably will deviate from the story at one point.

It hopefully will not be a huge deviation with too many differences, but deviations will be made. I vow that it won't happen until I establish all four characters, but that's really all I can promise. Probably some time during the Ball thing that Cinder's talking about.

So far we have a team of troublemakers. I don't know what I mean when I wrote that. Not a lot of authors know what they were writing about anything, though, so yeah.

I'm a bad person.

_"Pulvis et umbra sumus. (__We are but dust and shadow._)"  


-Horace, The Odes of Horace

* * *

_Some time earlier_

Blake Belladona was staring at the screen of her computer.

Her fingers moved with furious grace, every single movement of the sinews and muscles which controls the direction of where her fingertips are going being executed with purposeful fury. Her eyes are blazing – although a part of her mind not engrossed in the fury of writing thought that it probably was just her staring at the computer with _too_ much fury. This was the face of a determined writer. Every single movement had meaning to her.

She is going to write. She is going to create a _masterpiece_.

She stopped for a moment, stared at the words that she had typed on the screen, and _screamed_.

The wailing noise that came out of her throat was fit to make a banshee jealous, except that it wasn't completely horrible and doesn't make people deaf when they heard it. It was pure frustration, anger, and hatred mixed into one wail. It made a horrible screeching sound and petered off into the silent, empty room. Then she smashed her head into the laptop and tried to cry.

There were no tears, and her eyes did not became puffy or red. They didn't even mist up. It was just a cry of despair. She was horrible. Absolutely horrible. This isn't literature, this is-

"Blake!"

She was extremely glad that she didn't eat had anything to eat for dinner, because she probably would have shat her pants right there and then. It was Ruby's voice.

She's coming in.

She's going to _see_.

The miniscule, almost non-existent part of her brain that can still think rationally also thought: _She has super speed_.

The hinges very nearly broke, and that small part of her brain thought: _"We're probably going to have to try and explain the door-knob shaped hole in the wall_._" _And then a red blur streaked in, skidding on the carpet, in a stance that suggests an immediate display of excess sharpness and brutality. Her legs were bent and her center mass was lowered, like a spring that was ready to uncoil and release all of her energy-

What Ruby Rose saw, however, was nothing out of the ordinary. Their room appears to be fine. Their bunk beds were sagging on their unstable books, as it has been for the last few days, the corner of the rooms still smell suspiciously of rainwater, the windows closed and bolted. Clothes, such as her _other_ pair of black shirt and pleated red skirt are strewn all over in the general area of her own bunk bed, and from what she can see, the same could be said for Blake's clothes in general, despite her general over-protectiveness of them. Well, for good reasons, since she _is _a faunus. It's habitual.

She uncoiled herself from her combat stance. "Blake? What's the matter?"

She couldn't really see a reason to be screaming like that. There is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

Give or take one faunus curled up on the computer screen protectively like a cat, but having just recently learned that her friend is one, she supposed that it _might_ be what faunus do. Fauni. Faunuses. Things.

There were two sets of footsteps behind her, and Yang and Weiss showed up. They, too, had their weapons drawn.

"It's nothing!" wailed Blake. "Go away!"

Weiss stepped inside, sheathing Myrtlenaster as she did so. She wasn't wearing her regular dress, but neither were anyone else. It was almost time for evening assembly, so they had to show up in their school uniforms. Except for Blake, because she said she wasn't done with a _thing_.

"What have you been doing, Blake?" asked Weiss. She was cross, but then she was usually cross, and Blake got used to that. "We've been waiting forever for you."

"Barely 5 minutes, actua-" mutters Blake.

"_Forever_, I tell you. And then you scream for no reason and got us all worried. What made you scream, anyways?"

"Well, the exterminator promised that there would be a lot less rats in the room," said Yang. "Then again, it wouldn't be a problem with you. You're a cat-faun, you don't get scared of rats. So why are you curling up on the computer like that?"

Blake gulped. They noticed. _Dammit! They're not normally this sharp!_

"Is it the computer?" said Ruby. Then her eyes narrowed. "Is some freak harassing you over the internet?"

Yang and Weiss's eyes both narrowed, as well. It is worth mentioning that at this point their anger is directed at somewhere else other than her. For Blake however, the sign of their eyes narrowing is the sign of her demise. It speaks to the half-animal in her genes. _When a predator spots its prey, its eyes narrows_, her genes scream.

Ruby strode quickly over to the computer screen that Blake was currently covering with her body. "It's nothing! I'll- I'll be there in a moment! It's just this really engaging friend that I haven't talked to in a long while, okay?"

Yang tilted her head. "So then what's with the scream?"

_fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

"It's. Uh." Stammered Blake. "Excitement!"

Yang, Ruby and Weiss all stopped as one.

"Excitement," said Weiss, slowly. She stared at her with critical silver eyes.

"You're Blake," she continued, walking slowly, but more cautiously now, each stride composed and graceful, just like a lion before it closes in for the kill. In her case, it's composed and graceful because she's a fencer, but the analogy connected in Blake's mind anyways. "You don't get _excited_. You just usually consider things quietly before replying with a line or two."

"I-I have a life too! There's just some _things_ I reserve the right to get excited about, okay?"

"She did get awfully excited about that one book," pointed out Yang.

"Yeah, and she wouldn't stop yapping about how incredible three-hundred and eighty shades of purple was, and how 'hot' it is, and that we should read it," retorted Weiss. "This isn't Blake. It must be an impostor!"

Blake let out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding in. Let her teammates go on with their strange speculations. It's fine, really. And by the looks of it, Ruby and Yang must both be thinking similar thoughts.

_It'll be over soon_, thought Blake.

"Um, Weiss-"started Ruby.

"The scream must have been from the _real_ Blake," White continued.

"But I'm the real Blake. There can be no one but me."

"Then explain yourself standing right here."

"That's because I'm the real one."

"There are signs that you're not."

"Such as?"

"Well, the fact that you're talking at all is a starting indication."

"I'm defending myself!" spluttered Blake.

"You're talking in non-monotone."

"I'm flustered and annoyed! Go away!"

Blake's heartbeat began to subside the more ludicrous the accusations got. She'll just have to prove it was really her, which is easy enough, and then they can go to the evening assembly, and then she'll just have to rush back to the room and delete the paragraph forever from existence.

God bless.

"And the secret 'friend' that she was talking to must be the guy in the white tuxedo that Ruby fought!" she finished elegantly. "It must have been our locations, or our identity, or whatever, but the point is, we demand to see that message _now_!" Weiss triumphantly demanded.

_SONOFABITCH THEY'RE GONNA LOOK_

And even through her panicked brain, she can still see the sly wink that Weiss sent her way after flourishing her hands dramatically at her.

It was obvious that no one really believed the lies that Weiss had said. But teenage girls are teenage girls. They act in a certain way, and have certain interests, and what unites all teenage girls together is that when they have that certain interest there are likely no depths to which they wouldn't sink to. And it just so happened that she was in the same team as some of the most curious and investigative children of Beacon.

Ruby and Yang went from zero interest to becoming Weiss's wingmen (women). They didn't really care, they just really wanted to see what Blake was up to. She turned the tides on Blake so easily. Damn you, Weiss, whimpered Blake internally. Damn you forever.

"Well, we couldn't have any secrets of ours exposed to that madman," said Yang. 'That' mischievous glint is in her eyes again. Internally, Blake whimpered.

But not because of Yang.

Because Ruby, who was normally socially more dense than a bag of iridium wrapped in lead and soaked in molten gold, is picking up on her team's plan. She could see it. There's that glint in her eyes, as well. It so effortlessly became 3 vs 1. She's doomed, forever.

But at least she could delete the atrocity her fingers have given birth to before they ca-

Yang picked her up by the scruff of her neck the very second she turned and rushed for the keyboard. It was over for Blake.

"Let's see what our little spy's been working on, then," grinned Ruby, a touch maliciously for someone normally so sweet.

_It's true, isn't it_, thought Blake. _Friends treat you that much worse than enemies. At least this man in the Tuxedo would kill you first before viewing the file. They're gonna let me live. The shame._

Blake made one last spirited attempt in order to break Yang's hold on her. But right as she entertained that notion, Yang simply hung her by the coat-hanger and left her there to paw desperately at the air. It occurred to Blake later that she could probably just have done smarter things than ineffectively claw the air, such as jumping off the hanger and outright smashing the CPU. It would've been worth it. But humans – and to a certain extent, fauni – would be blinded by their emotions to such an extent that they could do nothing but just claw ineffectively in despair.

She kept on screaming, but it was strangled this time because her collar was digging at her throat. So she sobbed instead, covering her face with her hands. It's over. Her cheeks are burning in shame, and the corners of her eyes wet themselves.

In the meantime, Weiss stared at the open Macrosoft Sentences on the laptop.

_"oh no that guy iz scury" said one guy_

_"don wory he is slo he cannot-"_

_As Max stuck his slender pocketknife into the guy's neck,_

_he looked into the other guy's eyes and he uttered:_

_"gtg fast"_

She tilted her head.

"Y'know," she said, after a moment's silent, after Yang and Ruby was able to read the short story that Blake wrote.

"I've actually seen worse," said Yang, before Weiss could finish.

The wailing stopped. "What?" said Blake, puzzled.

"Oh, there's this one guy back in high-school, smitten with me, only good at writing stuff, so he kept sending these obviously fictional accounts of him fighting overly glorified creatures of Grimm, or whatnot. It was all very boring."

"At least this one makes you slightly curious," said Weiss. "Of why you'd be intentionally using bad grammar and spelling."

"It's-" whimpered Blake. "It's a storyboard, I'm not done!"

"Well, that explains it, then," said Ruby cheerfully. "It's alright, Blake. Sometimes we just go through hard times, and then what comes out of our brains becomes really weird."

"We'll help you, if you want," chimes in Weiss.

"You can't help trash," moaned Blake. She's still hanging slightly uncomfortably from the coat-hanger, too mortified to even try to lower herself down from there.

"You're not trash!" said Weiss vehemently. "You're trying, so that puts you just above trash! You have a chance to be above it, Blake!"

She shot Weiss a withering glance.

"Okay, fine, a little bit more above trash?"

The withering glance continued.

"I'd put you on compost level, even. It's still useful to the environment."

"Weiss, st-"

The bell gonged.

The sun moved ever so-slightly lower in the sky, and it became four o'clock.

Their eyes met each other.

They're late again.

No more words were exchanged. They rushed out, in uniform, into an empty hallway with no students but themselves, leaving the room and its grandfather clock with nothing but silence.

But secretly, Blake smiled. Thank god she got out of that alive. Now to find a way to burn down that computer...

_Tick, tock…_

* * *

_Tick, tock…_

And just like that, time had stopped, and everything in the world turned gray and stopped moving.

Alex stared at the video. It didn't move. For that matter, he couldn't have fast-forwarded it, because when time stops, _everything_ in the world stops, including his body as well as the video. He was stuck looking forwards at the exact angle his eyeballs were at before time stopped.

The video, which used to be colorful, now became entirely dappled in grey, although it is still more than possible to make out the figures in it. There were two girls in it, and one was suspended in mid-air, lashing out at the ground with what appears to be a roll of sausage. The other girl was also suspended in mid-air, having just jumped to dodge the lethal sausage and preparing a counter of her own using her pair of watermelons, albeit not the ones already attached to her body.

He stared at it as hard as he could. Time was stopped. He has all the time in the world. Paying attention to every little detail, his eyes absorbing every movement, every movement that was made, and every movement that the combatants on-screen is about to do…

And just as suddenly, the world moved again, the video played again, and his body could move again. And the blinding, painful headache returns.

"Ah! Damn!" he shouted as he clutched his head.

Time didn't really stop, of course. He just sped up his thought processes in order to make it look as if he stopped time for himself. How else could he have gone through so many videos and files in seconds, finding the weakness of every single young prospecting hunter or huntress in Beacon?

It's just painful. Very, very painful. Speeding up his thoughts to nearly light speed will burn out your nerve ends. It isn't as strenuous as it might sound at first, because the damage is multiplicative – do it once, twice, even ten times, and all that he'll get is a dull throb. At fifty, he'll start getting blinding headaches and flashes of light that bounce behind his eyes.

He just used it about a hundred times. He wanted to throw up and be part of the soil.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck."

Despite being a relatively polite if debauched person, he had no aversions whatsoever to swearing, particularly since he's the only one in the cottage. So he wheeled himself over towards the medicine cabinet, just beyond the desk stacked with mountains of paper, and took out his remedy.

It sparkled. It shone red, yellow, white. It was Dust, pure quality dust, the kind of dust that they used to power up generators and power guns, explode at the slightest hint of movement, and -

He took a pinch of it and held it up to his nostrils.

Silence, around the cottage, as he took a deep breath.

The blinding headache had subsided a little. He's fine now, but only just. He really shouldn't spam his semblance so much in a single day, but he couldn't really help it, because the rest of his teammates are, while geniuses in their own field, complete morons on preparation and tactical strategizing. It isn't that they're in a rush, it's just that the faster that they can be done with preparation, the faster they can react to-

The headaches returned again, not as painful as before, but still enough to make him clutch his head and fall into the arm-rest of his wheelchair.

"… Aaaargh." Garbled noises.

He really,_ really_ should take a break.

So he wheeled himself outside of the small cottage and onto the dirt road that leads into Vale.

From the outside, the cottage looks modest – small wooden logs piled together in a neat manner, partially made out of cement blocks at the back, because of construction costs, and set against the far fringes of Emerald Forest. A small dirt path leads into a large road towards Vale. There were other houses surrounding it, but they are similarly simple and neat, although the farther Alex wheeled himself towards Vale, the more modern-looking the houses looked.

He stopped. His arms ached. Normally, he would wheel himself all the way to Vayle, but he _really_ doesn't feel like exercising. He just wants to take a break.

So he did what no man on a wheelchair should have been able to do.

He stood up.

It's a misnomer, actually. He didn't just stand up the same way a person would stand up after being seated on a chair, he strained his arms and managed to balance on his good leg. His other leg remained limp, but then the wheelchair folded in on his other leg. It was like watching a piece of paper being folded – the contraption retracts into itself until it forms a brace-like mechanism on his other leg.

_It's a good thing the roads are kinda quiet today_, thought Alex. _Most other people woud've freaked out._

The brace itself didn't fix his legs. It supported it, made it a little bit more than completely flaccid and limp, but he would still limp instead of walk normally and find it very difficult to kick a wall with the awkward contraption. Still, it allowed him to walk, if somewhat strangely, and he had long mastered the art of shuffling quickly on a single leg forwards.

But he wasn't planning on walking all the way to Vale.

He just stood on the side of the road for the longest time until a cab came by, bumped his head on the entrance, and paid him after he dropped him off at Vale.

* * *

Around half an hour later, he was sitting behind a table drinking a nice cup of hot chocolate, because coffee makes him antsy and more bitter and condescending than he usually is. Not today. This is a time to relax, to stop using his semblance for the rest of the day and hopefully prevent more brain damage. Taking a sip, he shifted uneasily in his wheelchair, having given up his chair to allow for an elderly lady to join whatever strange seminar that they were hosting on the corner of the café.

He closed his eyes, set down his mug, and rubbed his temples. God, he needed that.

Looking through the video footages of the students for weaknesses were simple. The headaches are slightly less complicated.

Compilation of all that data is downright brutal on him.

He enjoys his job, he really does. There's something about scrutinizing the weaknesses of other people, their strength, evaluating them with an unbiased eye and then creating the perfect scenarios to perfectly crush those strengths that empowers him.

It's selfish, and it's childish, but he's a scrawny young adult in a wheelchair. Not much else can give him motivation, because no matter how much movements group wish to believe otherwise, the majority of the disabled will remain disabled and weak. Having a strength distinguishes him. Makes him a contributing member.

Sadly enough, his team was really most of what he had.

But if there's something that he is genuinely happy doing, it is this:

The waitress approached his table, carrying a tray, a drink, and a fudge cake. She was wearing high-heels, and a maid outfit.

"Fudge cake and a soda, sir," she said in cheerful tones. "Ah, and the bill, as well."

He frowned, and remained silent, unmoving, hands clasped in front of his mouth and elbows on the table. It was as if the waitress didn't exist. The smile flickered. Was he not happy? Is something bothering him? But the waitress remembered her training, to not be too curious about her customers, and forged onwards. "Sir?"

"Ah, sorry, sorry," said Alex. His usual rough tones changed, the words now coming out more silky, more sophisticated. "Just taking in my surroundings, y'know? First time here, see."

"Ah," said the waitress. "And how do you find Vale and our Café?"

Alex grinned. "Can't really comment, you're really the only thing I'm paying attention to."

The waitress winked at him. She clearly was used to being flirted at. But she'll take it, this once, because Alex, despite being disabled and in a wheelchair, was actually rather endearing in a scrawny way. It's that permanently messy brown hair, she thinks.

"I'd better get out of your way, then," she said, smiling. Alex simply smiled as he paid the bill and watched the waitress go on her merry way.

He continued sipping his chocolate milk. All in all, that went about as well as he'd expect. It's fun to flirt a little, especially since his chances of actually getting someone is lower than the chances of someone flirting with _him_. He's a disabled person. He isn't going to be seen as a person, just an object of pity.

Finishing his fudge cake, he wheeled himself out into the evening streets of Vale.

The sunset, he had to admit, was wonderful. Even more wonderful were the girls out here, laughing and chatting with their friends, and as much as he'd like to hit on them, that'll interrupt their fun. That's simply ungentlemanly. Briefly, he wondered if him and his teammates could just spend a day relaxing instead of a day working their asses off.

He took a deep breath, and sighed.

"Not like work _isn't_ fun, though…" he murmured under his breath, and smiled.

The clock gonged in the distance.

The clock gonged in the distance.

But Blake's work isn't fun.

She's tired. She's angry. She's sleep-deprived and the bags under her eyes might as well be bruises.

There are no clues in the library, no clues online, no clues on the street, and she's been trying her all to find more clues to look at, only that there weren't any. She's tired. She's sad.

And it never crossed her mind that the one time she was caught at her computer was the last fun she's going to have in a long time.

_Alexander C. Taylor_

_Aflliation: __**A**__NMS_

_Specialty: Flirting and genius tactics_

_Combat Role: Tactician; Bait_

_Semblance: Hyperthought, Hyperawareness_

_Equipment: Wheelchair/Brace/Cycle, Gungnir (Spear/Railgun)_

_Keenly aware that he is disabled and therefore would be marked in society as inferior. Slight tendency to label. A genius in awareness and pays more attention than most people would've liked. Likes to flirt, because it's fun to see their reactions. Despite being disabled, he can stand up using his leg brace and limp around. _

_Despite being scrawny and 'nerdy', is told to be slightly cute and attractive. _

If anyone was offended, do note that most of these chapters focuses on the world through a character's eyes. Alex's eyes see the world as such, and that is how I must portray.

Anyways I'm tired im sorry im like 2 weeks late it's really hard to flesh this guy out.

Okay gbye.


	3. Fantasy Star

Yooo I'm kinda late.

Because I'm a bad person.

I don't really know what I'm going to write about up here, because to be honest I'm very confused on what to say to you guys since you don't review enough so I can't really respond to anything.

I'd like to do more things here, but I can't, so oh well. Anyways, have the latest chapter.

I can promise that next chapter will be the last person and the start of the story. Also, dear GOD I have NEVER been this dedicated to a story, so PLEASE tell me what you think of it.

Yes I'm begging you to review. I'll strip naked and beg on your feet like a dog. I have no dignity.

**Chapter 3: Fantasy Star**

_"If one day the speed kills me, do not cry because I was smiling."  
― __Paul Walker, The Fast and The Furious 2 _

* * *

It was around 11:00 PM and the entirety of Beacon is sleeping, except for around fifty people.

Around half of those are the cleaners and the janitors, making sure that the cafeteria of tomorrow would be ready for whatever apocalyptic foodfight awaits it.

Twenty of those are teachers, working tirelessly to give their students extra rest time through boring lectures.

One is a young girl, still perusing the internet for leads on her archnemesis. She drooped here and then, but mostly, the force of her rage propped her up, gave her strength.

Two of them are worried over the above young girl, and was secretly observing her while pretending to sleep.

The last two were named Jaune and Pyrrha, respectively, and they're up on the roof of beacon together, all by themselves. Sparring.

Jaune parried the first overhead swing, but barely managed to move his blade in time to intercept the second vicious swing, and his shield clumsily blocked the sudden kick on his right. He tried to push out against that foot to unbalance Pyrrha, but he was forced to change his tactics and resorted to being flipped into the air by a sweeping kick and falling flat on his face, which worked, because the fight ended with a laughing Pyrrha.

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful," she laughed, clapping lightly. "You're getting much better."

"At being flipped into the air and landing on my butt, yeah," he muttered resentfully.

She extended her hand down, offering to help him up. "Nonsense. You have incredible strength in your swings and your blocks. We just have to work on –" and here, she used all her strength to pull him up, because Jaune is, no matter how wimpy he may look, still wears very heavy armor – "your speed, is all."

Jaune dusted himself off, but his hands came off mostly sticky and wet. Despite the cold night, it was blazing inside his shirt and armor, and his legs were trembling from the sheer effort of having to keep up with Pyrrha. She's that much faster and he's barely keeping up with the surprising ferocity that her lithe form hides.

He couldn't take it anymore. He's that tired, so he fell on his butt with a loud clank.

"Naw, naw," he panted, raising up his hand to stop Pyrrha. "I'm fine, just… really tired."

"Are you sure?" Pyrrha asked, worry etching her voice.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm tired…" began Jaune slowly.

"I meant if you're fine or not," Pyrrha corrected quickly. "Jaune, we're training way harder than usual today, and you've just had combat exam earlier this evening. Are you sure you're not pushing it? We're only human, after all…"

"Yeah… I guess you're right."

His breathing slowly settled, and then he took a deep breath. "What's with you, anyways?"

"Hm?"

"Oh… y'see, Dad used to show me how to swing a sword. He'd say: "Jaune, stretch before you start swinging a heavy sword around."

Pyrrha tilted her head. "I saw you do stretches before."

"You didn't, though." Jaune shifted his arms and legs slightly into a more comfortable position before continuing. "My point is, you're freaking fast and strong and yet I don't see you lift weights or practice like a madwoman, and you're actually – like, um, no feelings or whatever – really slender and pretty."

"Aaand?"

"Well, what's the secret? What makes you girls – like Ruby, Yang, and you, I guess, be so strong and yet look so… normal?"

Pyrrha frowned. "It is merely hard work and plenty of training? Ruby and Yang gets it from their uncle…"

"Not that I'd call Yang's style refined," muttered Jaune under his breath.

"And well, I just get thrown into so many matches during my school days that I guess I just got this good."

Jaune frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but Pyrrha was already walking away, striding towards the balcony and looking up to the pale moon in the skies. Since Vale was well away from most industrial sources of pollution, the stars smiles with clarity down on Pyrrha, and Jaune promptly forgot most of his questions because-

_She's freaking beautiful_.

"Also, Jaune." She spoke to him with his back turned.

"H-huh? Yeah." _Remember Weiss, remember Weiss…_

"Did you just say…" And she tilted her head slightly, so that he can see the small smile on her face, "Did you just say that I was… how do you say it… really pretty?"

"No feelings! Just being… y'know… objective." He felt the heat rise in his face.

Pyrrha just chuckled lightly. "You know. Not enough people say that to me."

Jaune paused. "Hmm?"

"I mean, I think they'd be afraid of offending me or something, thinking that they're not worthy of me, or some silly thing or the other like that… but it's very nice of you to be honest with your opinions like that." He couldn't see it anymore, now that she's fixing her gaze on something distant on the horizon, but he's sure that she'd be smiling at this point.

She let that hint hang in the air for a good three seconds before Jaune managed to completely blunder through it like a sack of lead.

"A-ah… yeah, I guess. Should we resume? I'm all ready for-"

"You probably should change your clothes first. It's freezing and you wouldn't want to catch a cold for tomorrow."

_Considering all the homework due tomorrow I'd rather catch that cold_… he rumbled internally.

-insert probably clothes changing scene here-

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Just kiss already," muttered the blonde boy.

"Mm?" said the shadows.

"I meant those two. Like damn, you can practically scoop all the tension out of the air and eat it. Would it kill people to be honest for once?"

"…"

"A-ah. Right. Probably would."

They were sitting atop a tree overlooking Beacon's balcony, observing Jaune and Pyrrha returning inside, into their dorm. To their sides, they can see Beacon's outhouses, one of which appears to be surrounded by wooden platforms, presumably to be used in the preparations of the upcoming ball. As the door creaked to close, they stayed on the tree for a few more minutes, just to make sure that nobody else would inconveniently catch them, then the blonde boy dropped down onto the balcony.

The shadow next to him didn't follow.

"What, you're not gonna come?" he asked.

"…"

"I told you – Emerald Forest at night's best place to practice. No one to catch us and plenty of monsters that you don't have to pull your punches against."

"… Alex and Max won't be happy."

"True that." He paused for a moment. "They're not really into risks."

He glided around the balcony aimlessly for a moment, clearly restless. Glide is the proper word to use – because he wasn't wearing shoes, but rather, he was wearing rollerskates. "Well, what are we gonna do then? Just hitting each other all day long isn't going to make us better, y'know."

"…"

"I'd wish you'd talk for once."

"I just did."

"Quit nitpicking. Still though… that Jaune dude's something else, ain't he? No training, no finesse, and yet he's… well…"

"…"

"Yeah, he really isn't going to cut it, not against plain monsters like team RWBY. But hey, considering how little training he got before he came here, he's practically a monster waiting to be trained. That strength is _scary_."

"…"

"I mean, the rest of those really incredible people at Beacon are pre-trained, right? They got previous training and stuff. And he doesn't, and yet he's just below par…"

"…"

"Say something."

"No."

"God damn you."

He sighed and continued to glide around the balcony aimlessly, and shivered slightly. That Pyrrha girl wasn't kidding when she said that the night was cold. Sometimes he wished that his wardrobe includes more than a red jacket and a black shirt, but then again, he really liked the meteorite blazoned on the black shirt, and that red jacket's signature.

It is, after all, an incredibly nice-looking jacket.

He _really_ wished that that nice-looking jacket would have longer sleeves.

"Fuck this," he said after a while. "So we're not training in the Emerald forest then?" he asked the shadow.

It shook its head slightly.

"And after all the trouble we took to sneak in. Well, not like its much 'trouble' anyways…"

Again, the rustling leaves filled in the silence between the conversants. However, it was the shadow's turn to speak, at last.

"… you know, if Beacon is hiding something so powerful, why wouldn't there be more guards?"

"Oh, I'd expect they'll be inside. After all, putting guards outside screams _"I'M HIDING SOMETHING DON'T LOOK" _to everyone else, and you _know_ what most people do when they're told not to look."

"… yes."

"Anyways, I'm tired, and I'm bored, and –"

A jaunty tune interrupts their conversation. It originated from the blonde's pockets.

"'S Max? Shit, we're dead."

"… What shall we tell him?"

"Eeeh. We practiced during the evening hard, and then we went for a walk. That's more or less what happened, anyways."

He opened the phone. "Yo."

There was a sigh from the other end. "Get back here already, Alex's more or less done."

"… thought you'd get at _least_ a bit upset because we sneaked out."

"I know you well enough to expect you to skip out of practice since it's not _challenging _enough."

"For god's sake, Max, we were fighting _wooden dummies_ – "

"Or, I could offer to sell sneaking privileges for you?" said Max, his voice suddenly attaining an oily-slick sound to it. "Just, oh, several –"

"You did realize you took all of my money with two of the phony drones that you wanted to build and never returned it, right?"

"I could _sell_ your money back to you."

"… Discarding the question of selling money back to someon-"

"Money exchanges do it all the time."

"Different _currencies_, Max.

"Ah, but you see, I can convert the money that I took from you into a different currency a-"

"And what'd I buy it back _with_?"

"We'll set up some sort of long-term preapproval payment services, and –"

"Whatever. We're heading back. We... sorry, I mean I'm gonna be a bit late, though."

"Hmm?"

"Coupla of kids are eavesdropping on us."

He closed the phone, and turned to the two newcomers standing on the balcony's railing. It was a boy and a girl, and they both respectively had silver and emerald hair. Despite the moon being behind them, he can instantly tell that at the very least, the girl had dark skin.

"Well then, why don't you two introduce yourselves? We're all students here, aren't we?" said the blonde-haired boy.

He casually stuck the phone back inside his jean pockets while idly gliding around the balcony again. The shadowy figure that was accompanying him was already gone.

"We've never seen you around the campus," said the silver-haired one calmly. But it was a dangerous kind of calm, the kind that professional gangsters use to suggest an immediate eruption of violence.

"Your face isn't around the student records, either." This time, it was the emerald-haired one. "And I'd know all the faces on the student record, too. So fess up. Who are you?"

The blonde haired kid scissored his legs and spun to a stop, wheels locking into place. "Hmm. Hmm. Oh dear. But y'see, neither of you are on the student records either, so let's not be hypocrites."

The silver-haired one narrowed his eyes. "Oh?"

The blonde haired kid smiled. "Oh, I'd imagine that you'd sneak in and apprehend the records officer, who no one pays attention to, and then pull one, three, five strings, and then you'd get yourself the student ID passes, and you'd pass as a student and all that, but you're not actually on the record itself, because then old schoolmaster Ozpin would just pick you out from the student lineup and then you'd be in a heap of trouble, hmm?"

He wagged his finger at them and smirked.

The emerald-haired girl briefly locked eyes with her partner, and that was all the confirmation that the blonde haired kid needed.

_God bless your deductions, Alex. I swear that if I get out alive I'll buy you a normal wheelchair or something. Or at least get you a girl of your own._

_Actually, that implies that I wouldn't get out of this alive, which I totally will._

"Alright, kid, you're coming with us," said the emerald-haired girl.

"No, Emerald, we should totally just kill him." The silver-haired boy

"I agree, you both should just totally kill me." The blonde haired kid spun in a half-circle, skates making a slight noise on the concrete, and turned his back to them, arms held out to his side in exasperation. "People these days. They see a problem, kill. They don't see a problem, kill anyways. What's with me and meeting murderous psychopaths, anyways?"

He turned around to face them again. "Besides, I'm sure you wouldn't want to shoot the messenger," he said as he grinned.

Emerald had just about enough with the blonde's antics, but then she stopped, just before she drew her weapons. "Message?"

"Yeah, from Torchwickety."

The silver-haired person uncoiled and relaxed "Well? What does that asshole want? He should be working on his job, we got Beacon covered, _he _doesn't need to poke his head unnecessarily into our business. What, he thinks Cinder's incompetent or something?"

"Ah, so there's three of you. _Now _it makes more sense," said the blonde boy, smirking and nodding. "Well, he wants you to know that you can't shut up and stop leaking vital information to outsiders."

"_Damn _it, Mercury, don't you know when to shut up?" seethed Emerald. "I swear, you've let slip of our plans to how many people already?"

"What's the matter? He'd be dead anyways. And everyone else just laughed and didn't believe it."

The blonde haired boy gulped. They're both advancing on him now. "No chances of you two going easy on me, is there," he said, while slowly gliding backwards.

"Not a snowball's chance in hell."

The blonde-haired boy backed off some more as the pair advanced, until his back touched the wall. He was nervously sweating, although his voice still remains snide and he's still somewhat smiling.

"Aww. So tell me, is this the part where you beat me up unconscious and carry me to a secret location to torture and then kill me? Or do I die in a single kick, like poor old Tukson down at Vale there?"

"You're really trying to kill yourself, are you?"

"What's wrong with doing my homework? I come prepared."

"Well, _our_ homework happens to be murdering yapping squirrels like you," snarled Emerald. Her hands circled around her back warily, grabbing her twin emerald pistols, as Mercury's greaves started to click.

"Ah, but it's not due today."

_His rollerskates made a slight whirring noise, the dynamos concealed within them at full charge. He couldn't kill them, and he certainly could not defeat them in a fight, but as for taking them out of the fight and far, far away from him…_

"Because you see, my really, really sexy lady, you've made a fatal error."

"Hmm?" The pair never stopped advancing. It was around 10 more meters to death.

"You see… your shoelaces are untied."

It wasn't, surprisingly, a desperate gamble. Equally surprising is how well this alleged distraction works, because as humans, everyone was conditioned to do certain things in response to certain stimuli.

In this case, that stimuli was to look down.

They glanced down, a very quick glance that one would throw towards a passing car or motorcycle, one that would ensure that every attention would still be at their main target, but their target was already a blur in front of them, moving fast, just as fast as Mercury expected Ruby would, becoming a blonde-red-black blur. They were caught off-guard by that speed. Cursing, Mercury kicked at him, but the target spun low on his skates and bent his knees, the foot going above him, and continued the spinning momentum into a kick of his own, and Mercury crossed his arms to block that kick -

_====================================Fantasy Star=======================================_

Mercury had expected some pain. It was a good kick, with the full momentum of the person behind it crashing into him, so why didn't he feel any pain? Why did it feel like he simply just got tapped on his arm? And why is there so much wind blowing aroun-

He opened his eyes.

The Emerald Forest was below him, and he was flying backwards, high and fast, watching Beacon slowly become smaller and smaller.

He sighed. This wouldn't kill him, but having to walk all the way to Beacon will. He's going to kill that snot nosed punk.

He closed his eyes and waited until his downward

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Mercury?!"

After the kick, Emerald tried to react, but before she could aim and pull the trigger, the second leg had already kicked her wrist, which, while not nearly enough to knock the gun off her strong grip, managed to do the intended effect of-

_Paralysis? _

Purple lighting flared through her arms and she yelped as her entire arm went numb. The gun clanked onto the floor. The lightning flared, and her eyes suddenly became unable to perceive anything but white, and sharp pains bounced around her skull.

"Nngh!"

There was a sound. Her gun went off.

"Well, that's sure to attract attention now," muttered the blonde-haired boy. "I was hoping that I'd paralyze you and then take you for questioning and stuffs, but I don't think that's gonna happen anytime soon."

"U-ugh. At least… tell us your name."

The blonde-haired boy smiled. "What, and put me at a disadvantage? Sorry, I'm big-mouthed myself, but I'm not an _idiot_."

"T-then you'd be s-sorry d-d-dat you _ebeh_ c-crossed us." The electrocution has spread to her tongue. She couldn't speak.

He turned his back and walked all the way to the back wall, and put one foot on the wall.

"Mmm, well, then it wouldn't matter if I throw you off into the Emerald Forest as well, right? And you couldn't even report this to the proper authorities, heh…"

"H-how-"

"By the way, if you have to report to this Cinder boy you're talking about, tell him that… mmm."

He thought this for a while, hands on his chin. Emerald tried to move her hand slowly towards her other gun, but it wouldn't respond. He had zapped her good.

"Yeah, tell 'im that Sparkles did it."

"You're wh-"

He pushed off the wall, and she blinked, and she was a swinging leg, and a light tap on her belly.

The 'e' faded off into the distance with a swift roundhouse, forming an arc over the forest.

His phone rang again, and he answered. "Yo."

"Sparks." It was Alex. "Where are you?"

"Mmm… heading back to 'base'. And by base I really mean house."

"Any reason you're not back yet?"

"Couple of who appears to be Torchwick's underlings caught us sneaking around, so I was right in assuming that they had people at Beacon already. Do I get to say to you 'I told you so'?"

"… You really could've endangered our entire mission, you know."

For the first time, the blonde-haired boy 'Sparkles' sagged a bit. "Yeah, yeah, I get the idea. To be honest, I very nearly blew it. If they weren't distracted those two would probably have kicked my butt."

"Well, you _are_ our resident combatant…"

"I mean I could probably go even on one of them, but two of them? They'd shred me. They really would. Most people wouldn't even _react_ to me approaching, but he got a full goddamn kick off."

"… so at the very least we know that his henchmen are getting better."

"Not henchmen, and there's not only two, there appears to be a third somewhere, and now they know that Sparkles did it."

There was a relaxed sigh from the other side of the phone. "Oh, alright then. That just means that they'll never see us coming."

"No one would ever believe that someone as silly-sounding as 'Sparkles' would beat them up," he said, chuckling.

"I was being sarcastic."

"I can never really tell." He paused. "Alright, I'll be heading back. 'S she back yet?"

"No, but her locator says that she's on the way. You'd best get going, too, before someone finds out about all the commotion."

"Good point."

"Try to be back in, oh, half an hour... think you're up for the challenge?"

"Nope. That's not even a challenge at all."

"Heh." There was a chuckle from the other side of the phone. "They don't call you McSpeedstar for nothing, do they?"

"Eh, I wonder about that."

He pocketed his phone, and skated to a nearby wall, kicking off it, gaining tremendous speed, and disappeared from Beacon in a blur.

* * *

"Allow me to get this straight," said Cinder.

She was angry. She was wearing a red dress today, because it matches the color of the room that she's planning to spend the rest of the day in. One perfectly cut and manicured fingernail rested on her temples, while her legs crossed and her eyes remain closed.

This is her 'unhappily thinking' pose.

"A boy named Sparkles waltzed into the campus, found out about us so easily, and then defeated both of you in the blink of an eye."

Emerald and Mercury said nothing, mostly because they couldn't. To add to the silliness and humiliation of the situation, the Grimm of the Emerald Forest are far less forgiving at night, and while they weren't knocked that far away they only just got back that morning.

They were tired. So, so very tired.

"So how can you both be defeated at once?"

"mnwas a distratchun," muttered Mercury sullenly.

"But I did get something out of him," supplied Emerald, somewhat tiredly.

Cinder raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"The entire time, he appears to be fighting with his semblance. It appears to involve the absorption and release of kinetic energy."

"Intriguing." Cinder opened her eyes. "Go on."

"When he kicked both of us, it didn't hurt. It felt more like a light tap, and yet our bodies were flung all the way into the Emerald forest. I think that he simply transferred the kinetic energy of his movement into our bodies, and so we just went… flying."

"And that means," said Mercury, in calm tones, "that the next time we fight, I'll know exactly how to counter him, because he'll stop right after he pushes all of his energy on someone. And he's going to… oh, die painfully. The usual."

"This isn't the time to tunnel vision, Mercury," reprimanded Cinder softly. "Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize. Now, did they state their purpose?"

"They haven't."

"Then we should call for Torchwick and have his men comb the area. We can't be too sure that they're not planning to interfere."

She looked at a distant mirror on the other side of the room. She saw herself.

Boy, was she gorgeous.

"After all, the ball is only less than a week away."

* * *

_Profile: Sparkles __McSpeedStar (known name)_

_Affliation: Team ANM**S**_

_Specialty: Going faster than the speed of light_

_Combat Role: 1v1 Master, Support_

_Semblance: Fantasy Star (Kinetic Transfer)_

_Equipment: Phone, Dynamo Rollerskates, Really Cool Jacket_

_The team's main combatant, his claim to fame is to win all 1v1 matches by way of kicking the enemy out of bounds. It's very technically a win. Outside of combat, he loves to try and trick people into saying things they shouldn't, and enjoys challenging himself, despite doing unreasonable things. Loves to play games and enjoys going out with Alex and flirting with the girls._

_Rarely gets angry and despite his rogue-ish behavior, is actually very calculating inside. _

This is the most iffy chapter yet. Because I'm not sure how you would react with Sparkles. That's really it.

I should be able to get the last introduction chapter on friday, but let's see.

(how lazy I am, that is.)

He opened the phone. "Yo."

There was a sigh from the other end. "Get back here already, Alex's more or less done."

"… thought you'd get at _least_ a bit upset because we sneaked out."

"I know you well enough to expect you to skip out of practice since it's not _challenging _enough."

"For god's sake, Max, we were fighting _wooden dummies_ – "

"Or, I could offer to sell sneaking privileges for you?" said Max, his voice suddenly attaining an oily-slick sound to it. "Just, oh, several –"

"You did realize you took all of my money with two of the phony drones that you wanted to build and never returned it, right?"

"I could _sell_ your money back to you."

"… Discarding the question of selling money back to someon-"

"Money exchanges do it all the time."

"Different _currencies_, Max.

"Ah, but you see, I can convert the money that I took from you into a different currency a-"

"And what'd I buy it back _with_?"

"We'll set up some sort of long-term preapproval payment services, and –"

"Whatever. We're heading back. We... sorry, I mean I'm gonna be a bit late, though."

"Hmm?"

"Coupla of kids are eavesdropping on us."


End file.
